The Doctor and I
by PadawannaB
Summary: The moments when Jack Harkness is very much like the Doctor. Collection of individual short stories. NEW: 'Waiting for You'
1. By any other name

**'The Doctor and I' is a collection of individual oneshots, stories of moments when Jack sees a piece of the Doctor in himself. The quality and crossoverity (?) may vary. **_**  
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_**In which a rose by any other name is not just 'sweet', **_

_**and**_**_ Jack knows the error of his ways and knows what he needs._**

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><p><strong>By any other name<strong>

"She's exactly what I need." That had been the Doctor's answer the one time Jack had dared, without any innuendo or foolish bravado, to ask about it. About why Rose Tyler, an ordinary London girl, was travelling in the TARDIS. Not that he was objecting or anything, she was clever, funny and not too hard on the eyes. Jack could think of a million things he could do with her... except that he never would. Never.

_She's exactly what I need_. Normally Jack would have had a field day with such a statement, but something in the Doctor's eyes - the thousand simultaneous emotions, the memories of other roses, now scattered through time, the eternal loneliness - stopped him from saying anything that he would have only regretted later. All he could do was to be thankful that with his limited lifespan he would never have to feel like that, to look like that.

About 150 years later, when Jack Harkness looked in to the big, brown eyes of a brunette who carried pizza boxes, he finally understood why Rose had been there.

She had cared. Her heart had been big enough to love when the two hearts of the Doctor were too tired. When Gwen Cooper looked into the eyes of a rift-fallen and smiled, or patted the back of a grieving friend, she did it with all her heart, so overly warmly and lovingly that it annoyed Jack to death. But silently he thanked her for it.

She had questioned. With a few words she had been able to stop the fury of a Time Lord from getting the better of him. When Gwen Cooper looked at Jack and challenged his words and actions, she did it with all her power, so naïvely, insubordinately and often at what seemed like the completely wrong time that Jack wanted to strangle her. But silently he thanked her for it.

She had been innocent.

Jack hated to admit that he was not the same man he had once been. He was no longer so giving. He was more than ready to pull the trigger without offering a choice, not only because he couldn't but also because he didn't want to. He was cold. Immortality had made him regress to what he had been before he'd met the Doctor. And now he had _that_ look in his eyes. He needed someone to be what he wasn't, and teach him to be that again. It had to be Gwen, the others couldn't do it.

They were already broken.

Toshiko would never completely leave that UNIT cell. She would sometimes go there in her sleep, and her mothers eyes would stare at her from the walls.

Owen would continue looking for something, anything - a drink or a meaningless fuck - to at least for a moment forget how the white theatre doors opened to reveal a nightmare.

Ianto seemed to think that if he hid behind the suits and politely blank expressions, no one would notice how his fingers hesitated above the 'delete' key, or how he disappeared to the archives for hours. It worked too well.

Gwen Cooper was clever, funny and not too hard on the eyes. Jack could think of a million things he could do with her... except that he never would. Never. The attraction was there, but he would fight it, even if it meant prying her hands off him by force.

"_By the way, did I mention it also travels in time?" _

_And the blonde smiled and ran to the TARDIS_

By recruiting her he sealed her fate, but she was exactly what he needed. Torchwood killed everything in the end, but Gwen Cooper's innocence Jack Harkness would protect as long as he could.

~_fin_~

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><p><strong>That was the first chapter of a story that will be a wibbly wobbly bunch of stuff. Hope you liked it! Let me know what you think, and I might put up a new one :)<strong>

**PadawannaB**


	2. Holding the coat

**A new chapter! Thanks to the nice person who added this to their story alert! I think I should cheat and put this in the Torchwood file to get more views, but I'm just too honest XD**

_**In which Jack takes a coat, **_

_**hangs around in a space boat,** _

_**and entertains some weird thoughts**_

_**until he's not sure what he needs most**_.

**Oh yeah, and I own n o t h i n g.**

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><p><strong>Holding the coat<strong>

He took the coat that was offhandedly tossed to him, and gently and carefully lay it across his arm, smoothing down the worn and slightly dusty fabric with his fingers, smiling a bit to himself. To think that he was actually _holding_ it. The coat, _the_ coat. That incredibly amazing, sexy _coat_.

...

Jack let his gaze follow the Doctor: he was currently running around the laboratory, fiddling with everything and talking with the speed of light. Jack's smile widened. He didn't need to think what he felt for this new version. He was already completely in love, so much so that the ache in his heart, the ache of waiting for so many years just to be almost left behind again, was only a small and fleeting twinge now. He glanced at that new girl, Martha Jones, only to find the same fondness and longing reflected in her eyes. Okay, so he wasn't alone. And the Doctor's still got it. Not everything had changed about him: he had always had his eyes on Rose alone.

_Rose._.. Jack recalled that not too long ago he had compared her to Gwen. At that thought the ache in his heart returned, but now it wasn't for the Doctor. And not for Rose, either. _Concentrate, dammit. _

But if Gwen was his Rose, who would be his Jack?

The way Martha looked at him probably meant he had laughed aloud.

But seriously, if Gwen is Rose, then who's Jack? It would have to be someone who had a thing for him. So, Gwen it is. Although, the looks Owen sometimes gives him... _Martha's glaring now, stop sniggering_. Okay, someone who fancies him. And someone to whom he doesn't tell anything. _That could be anyone, then._ Someone who has made terrible mistakes, things that could've ended really badly, but who he has still forgiven. Someone who he has treated like shit but who still stays with him. Someone he has left behind. Someone-

Oh.

Oh.

_Oh._

Suddenly the way he had taken the offered coat seemed all too familiar.

...

Against common belief, Jack was just as capable of love as any other human being. He wasn't a heartless monster. In fact, he gave love a little too freely.

Immortality was by far the cruellest way to show that there isn't such a thing as 'one true love'.

It was just that normally a person didn't live long enough to experience a second.

Jack had loved – truly, _deeply_ loved – more than once, and as his problem with not staying dead didn't seem to be getting solved any time soon, he was sure there would be many more to come. And they had all been equally special, equally true, and equally painful in the end. It hurt so much, no matter who left and why. Fighting it was just as futile as was hoping that the end would never come. Love and death always win. He had tried, though, he always would.

But what he and Ianto had wasn't love. He didn't _love_ Ianto, he was just... relatively fond. The lust had been there, from the beginning, and the attraction. And after the somewhat fumbling first time in his office when the others had already left, the sex had become the best he'd ever had. It had been meant for distraction, but it had developed into so much more, for both of them. He had trusted Ianto, still did: he had shared with him secrets from his past that no one else, not even his previous loves, had known. And the boy understood and listened, even if the stories were sometimes so fucking awful.

To Jack, it had been more than sex. Not love, but not just an arrangement, either. And that had made it even worse when secrets were discovered, threats made, words said, tears cried and mistakes forgiven. They were getting closer again, but it still hurt.

The boy was obviously falling for him. Hard. If it was anyone else, Jack would feel the need to tell exactly just how dangerous that was, but Ianto worked for Torchwood, and the kid was so clever he most likely knew it already. He probably also knew it would not be forever, that Jack would someday move on without him. Not everyone had known that.

And Ianto was still willing to risk his heart.

The mysterious ache grew, and now he saw it for what it really was. It was an ache for his team, an ache for those he'd left behind believing he'd be happier elsewhere. An ache for friends, family. An ache for Ianto.

It wasn't love, but it had almost been, before... before things. It wasn't love, but it could be. _Should_ be. It had been a long time since Jack had last played with the only thing stronger than death, but if Ianto, after all this, still wanted him, he would take his chances once again. Be the Doctor to his Jack: they could try to fix each other.

Or maybe, they could just be Jack and Ianto.

_Concentrate! You're with the Doctor! Remember, the man you waited for 150 years? You're not going back. That ache in you're heart, just ignore it. You've got the Doctor now, that's all that matters, all that has ever mattered. They were just... stuff to fill the time. Right? _

...

He had a long year ahead to think about that.

"_I came back for you."_

~_fin_~

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><p><strong>That was that. This was inspired by a really short video on Youtube (*can't remember the name, doesn't have the energy to google*) that had a clip from 'Utopia' where Jack takes the Doctor's coat, and from some TW episode where Ianto takes Jack's. And "relatively fond" is from this:<strong>

__youtube . com / watch ? v=VFru1LBVleA&fmt=18 __

**Watch it, it's really cute and funny!**

**And once again, I hope you liked this, and if you take the time to leave a review, I'll be very happy. That's what you want, right?__  
><em>_**


	3. Conversation on loving the lost

**Hey, I'm back! **

**Warning: a vent fic. Had to get this out of my system, so might not be the best thing ever, but bear with me, ok?**

**Takes place between CoE and the audioplay 'The House of the Dead'. And no, I don't own Torchwood or Doctor Who.  
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**_In which there is a old traveller_**

**_and an even older one, with questions he asks;_**

**_in which silence is the honest answer_**

**_and they see through each__ other'__s__ masks._**

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><p><strong>Conversation on loving the lost<strong>

"You couldn't have helped, right?"

The question was casual enough, but the silence stretched.

"Right? There wasn't anything- you couldn't have helped, right?" _Dammit_._ No pleading, you idiot._

"I could have."

"Then why didn't you!"

"I was busy. Elsewhere."_ Arrogant. Uncaring. Cold. __Alien._

" You have a time machine!"

" It wouldn't have helped, the events were-"

"Fixed, yeah! I kinda got that."

He crossed his arms and huffed out, frustrated. They were both facing away from each other, drained by too many losses in a life too long lived, their travel-weary forms leaning against the railing merely two feet apart .

"I still came back, though."

"Hmmh."

"Just to watch."

"Hmmh." '_Looking down on the galaxies below, ___sworn never to interfere___, ___only to watch__.'

Apologetic eyes turned to his direction, a mouth repeating well-rehearsed words.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so-"

"Shut up! Shut up! Stop, right now, or I swear I'm gonna punch you, just SHUT THE FUCK UP!" _He didn't need this, these sosorrys and iunderstands, he needed the shy smile and the tapping of a keyboard, the sarky comments and the salty smell of aftershave, the warm words and big brown eyes, the excited yell of 'Uncle Jack' and the small arms ready for a hug, the perfect cup of coffee and the perfect kiss..._

He stopped suddenly, in a fairly ridiculous manner, when he realised just who exactly he was yelling at.

"Would you punch me? Really?"

"No."

"Would you, though? Really?"

"... yeah." _He was surprised himself._

The admission made the Doctor smile softly and glance at his direction with sad eyes, before turning to look to the distance, the smile vanishing.

"You know, I've been waiting for you to get angry with me, Jack. The way I've been treating you... if it were me, I wouldn't have put up with it for this long, and I really can't see why a man like you, all big words and an even bigger ego, would either."

"It's because I love you."

"Don't."

They both decided to ignore the broken sob that escaped at that point.

"You loved him, didn't you?"

The question was casual enough, but the silence stretched and it was an answer in itself.

"He wasn't the first one that I've lov- that I've l- you know, and he won't be the last, so..."

The Doctor apparently saw through his rather pathetic attempt of appearing unhurt, since now he looked at him seriously, as if to silence him before he made any more of a fool out of himself.

_Jack couldn't honestly say who he was trying to convince, the Doctor or himself._

"That doesn't matter. I know it, and you know it", he said.

Then he looked at Jack in a way that made him feel like he was being stripped down and put on display, so that all the universe could see his deepest thoughts and emotions.

"You know, people assume that you're something inhuman. Detached from the real world, living forever. Playing with the feelings of others, receiving love and loyalty and giving in return only lust and false promises. That you're incapable of loving, really _loving,_ anyone. Those people don't see you. Because that's not it, oh no.

You give love too freely, Jack. That's your problem. If it can be called a problem. You flirt and make comments that, in my mind, are actually a bit too intruding, but that's not you. What you really are, Jack, what you truly are is the person you are when you're alone, at night, with someone who knows you, who _sees_ you. When you're with someone you love and who loves you in return. Love defines us, Jack. You don't shy away from love, but you shy away from labelling it, from admitting to it. You don't say it aloud, because when it's said, it's real, and when it's real, it's going to hurt in the end. That's what you think. Only, it doesn't work, does it? It still hurts. But you do the same thing, every time, just to protect yourself from the pain. Even though you know it won't help. And that, Jack", he looked him straight in the eye, "that makes you so human."

A silence. A soft smile.

"The words aren't important, Jack. You don't have to say it. Just make sure it's obvious enough."

Jack could only hope it had been. And for one, terrible moment, he was sure it hadn't. That Ianto hadn't known.

"_I'm just a blip in time for you." No, you weren't._

"_In a thousand years time_, _you won't remember me_." _Yes, I will._

But Ianto knew everything.

And then Jack could see. _How Ianto had smiled when he came home and found Jack in the kitchen preparing tea, how he had chided him for making a mess, how their hands had brushed against each other when Ianto reached for the cups and Jack tried to clean the countertop. And how suddenly the splashes of tea no longer mattered, how clothes were desperately tugged off and how their lips were firmly planted together, and how without saying a word they both knew that the other one knew, too._

He probably should have still said it, though. At the end, at least._ The guilt from that, among oh so many other dark things, would stay with him forever._

The Doctor had that far-away look in his eyes, and that's when Jack realised that this wasn't entirely about the Doctor trying to make him feel better.

" You loved her, didn't you?"

The question was casual enough, but the silence stretched and it was an answer in itself.

_~fin~_

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><p><strong>There you go! Phew, finally got that off my chest... If you want to get something off your chest, too (and trust me, it feels AWESOME), feel free to do so in a from of a review. It would be much appreciated :)<strong>


	4. Waiting for You

**Here I come again, bearing a gift of less-dialogued nature. Once again, I don't own Doctor Who or Torchwood, and I really wouldn't want to: do you know how many hate mails Davies, Gardner and Moffat get just because they created/create great characters and inspiring stories? **

**_In which I seek in crowded places,_**

**_through many unfamiliar and odd faces_**

**_for the one I remember so fondly._**

**_In which Time plays its games so coldly._**

**_Still. There's nothing more wonderful to do_**

**_than to be there to wait for You._**

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><p>Waiting for You<p>

The place was crowded, all sorts of creatures from all sorts of places talking, yelling, singing, crying, fighting. He sighed. Times may move on and on, but bars never change. This one in particular was, judging by it's architecture and decorating, trying to get that good ol' 26th century charm, off-white grela-steel panelling and all, but he could spot some chairs and a small side desk that were more 42nd. Or perhaps early 43rd , it looked like the chairs had slightly curved legs.

He wasn't here to critisise the interior design, but there was nothing else to do and he had time to spare. That's all he had these days; time. Funny, how sometimes it seemed to slip away too quickly, like sand, falling through the cracks, stealing what he wished to keep and leaving behind what he hoped to loose. But at days like this, when he had a mission, a special treat, it seemed to slow down. Maybe Time itself just wanted to have a laugh at his expense. He was Time's own, to do and live as it pleased.

He was waiting. Well, that's what he was always doing, what he had been doing for a long time, but tonight, he was waiting for something, _someone_, else entirely. He would probably be growing impatient, had the years past not taught him that such things were useless. And tiring. So he remained calm, even though he could feel a small flutter of excitement growing.

The creatures around him shifted, disappeared and reappeared, ordering more drinks and passing out under the tables, dancing and talking animatedly, and that's when he saw it. A swirling hem of a long coat as someone passed right by him, not even turning to look. _And why would he? _

The man walked to the counter, and even though the place was noisy, he could still hear his voice over the music and yelling and sport results on the telly. Commanding, immediately taking control of the situation. Asking something from the barman, and then running, rather melodramatically, to the staircase that lead to the second floor.

He knew there were a few minutes until the man would return with a struggling Absorbaloff on tow, so he took a sideways glance to the left. _Purple velvet. A mixture of new nouveau and classic revealism. Slightly curved legs. Yep, definitely early 43__rd__ century._

He returned his gaze to the stairs when he heard some distressed screaming, and let his eyes follow the man, taking in every detail of his face, admiring the colour of his eyes and the style of his hair. He had forgotten that nose, and that chin, and now he tried to memorize them, quickly. He didn't know when they would meet the next time.

The man, dragging the now handcuffed alien, left through the front door, making such a show out of it all that no one could possibly miss him walking in a way that made the coat fly behind him, a sight the man obviously thought to be amazing. And it was: he could see some admiring and appreciating glances from the crowd. It was amazing to him as well, but in a different and so much more disturbing way.

He couldn't help but to smile fondly: he remembered that brash and loud young man. _Well, young..._ He remembered that young man's dreams, all of his pains and losses, all of his love and infatuations, lusts and longings, regrets and mistakes, endings and beginnings that went in a never-ending circular flow. He remembered how that young man had been _so_ afraid of forgetting.

He remembered that young man so well.

He watched, with a certain mixture of melancholy and nostalgia, as the door closed.

All the waiting for just those few minutes, but it had been worth it. He left the bar, collecting a few glances himself: he may not have an impressing coat and some _great _hair, but he was sort of famous.

He hoped that he wouldn't have to wait too long to meet the man again, but you have to be careful with these kind of things.

But more than anything he hoped he could go back; go back through time and space and tell that young man that he would never forget. That pain would fade and sadness would turn into pale tones that didn't hurt any more, at least not so much. That some things would disappear, but the ones that were the most important would remain, always. The people, the places, the adventures. Maybe less detailed, maybe less vibrant, but still there, forever, in the back of his mind.

But he couldn't go back. He had nothing but time, but he was now Time's own, to do and live as it pleased.

He sighed. Time to go home. And wait.

~_fin_~

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><p><strong>There you go. And to those who have questions about the timeline, this takes place in a <em>very<em> far future. The century count has just been started again at some point, because otherwise it would've become too difficult. 'The 4000049th century is when everything changes' just sounds... weird. **

**But hey, feel free to leave a review! They make me happy :)  
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